fauxcroft

Not long ago I had the dubious pleasure of living on an estate where the majority of people lived in flats along a concourse that once was an airfield. There were many good people living there who kept their heads down. Yet there were many others who sought to be making a living through drugs, prostitution and other criminal activities. They were of many differing ethnic backgrounds. Outside my door in our little corridor of flats the floors and walls were clean. The other side of the doors graffiti emblazoned the walls, the floors and ceilings. This was a place I moved to from a new town in the suburbs. It was a culture shock to me. People who could not get moved would go for a walk with the family and Supprisingly while out their flat would catch fire, forcing the council to rehouse them elsewhere. I saw people push fridges and sofas over balconies during rows trying go hit their partners they were rowing with. I saw as police bashed down doors carrying out drug raids. They patrolled the estate in cars and on horses. There was always tension but also a sense of community among those of criminality. In the center of the estate was the focal point. The pub. I remember sitting on my balcony one night seeing the prostitutes walking to the pub with their pimp to work. I watched as the kids set light to the bins, smash up the telephone boxes as their parents got drunk in the pub. Many of those without work and had time on their hands used crime to pay for drugs and then spent the rest of their time off their heads. It was sitting watching this life unfold and roll pass in front of me that I decided to move myself and my family off through changing my job. That’s when I realised the harsh side of life. That’s when I realised I was lucky to be able to get myself away from it. The many there sadly were condemned to remaining their making the most of that estate life. I cannot say I miss it. But I can say I learnt much and appreciate the experience and the lesson.